


she will my sword and fortune be

by nowrunalong



Category: DC Extended Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Contains Fanart, F/F, Plot Shenanigans, Pre-Man of Steel (2013), Unconventional Dates, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27045874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowrunalong/pseuds/nowrunalong
Summary: Lois Lane is working on the exposé of a lifetime when an art restorer from Paris walks into her life with information that will make or break her case.
Relationships: Diana (Wonder Woman)/Lois Lane
Comments: 8
Kudos: 46
Collections: Fic In A Box





	she will my sword and fortune be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nixie_DeAngel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nixie_DeAngel/gifts).



> This was written for your prompt of "Diana helping Lois to get her story". It went in a different direction that I had originally planned, but I had a fun writing it, and I hope you enjoy!

Lois Lane has met a lot of interesting people in her lifetime. It’s not by coincidence; she seeks them out. She’s unearthed the stories of individuals at every place she’s ever lived or worked, lining up facts like she’s solving a Rubik’s cube, digging for motivations and translating them into notes in her journal. There’s no embellishment to what she does. Her words are straightforward and true.

Lois is halfway through her one hundred and seventeenth day of employment at Lonely Arts Club arts and crafts shop when she meets the most inscrutable woman.

The woman strolls into the dingy, trinket-filled store like it’s a hall of wonders, like it’s expecting her arrival, like she’s a queen and this is her mural-painted empire. A white dress with an asymmetrical neckline (Balenciaga, maybe, or Gucci, or something else that costs more money than Lois will ever see in a single paycheck) accentuates sharp shoulders and well-defined musculature. Her dark hair is tied in a tight bun. She’s formidably tall, and so elegant against the backdrop of this shady Intergang front that Lois does a double-take.

“Hi,” she says, once she’s taken a split-second to recover her composure. And then: “Forgive me,” she adds, deciding on bluntness, “but you don’t seem like the type of person I usually meet here.” It’s usually best not to pry into anyone’s business here, but Lois likes to be honest.

She also likes to pry into everyone’s business, which is why she’s at Lonely Arts in the first place.

“What are you looking for today?” Lois asks the woman, when she doesn’t react at all to Lois’ comment.

The woman smiles. It’s a smile that manages to be at once open and enigmatic; a smile that says ‘ _What type of person am I?’_. “I am going to be attending a business meeting with a new associate,” she says. She approaches a table of poorly-drawn cards and begins to flip through them. “I would like to bring a small gift, to make a nice first impression.”

“Are you sure you aren’t wanting flowers?” Lois asks. “We don’t carry them here, but Pam’s Flowers & Gifts a block west of us has got great bouquets. If you’re meeting with a new associate, flowers are a safe, neutral choice.”

Lois doesn’t think that ‘safe’ and ‘neutral’ are words that describe this woman. She can’t envision a scenario in which she wouldn’t draw the attention of everyone around her.

“Neutral,” the woman repeats, pensive. “I believe I am looking for something more… unique.”

“What does your associate like?” Lois asks. 

“I am not sure. We have never met before.”

Her way of speaking is slightly odd, Lois thinks. She can’t place the accent. Lois had pinned down nearly everyone from Intergang that frequents this place, but this woman could be yet another of their international associates. The scope of their activity is far wider than Lois had assumed at the start of her investigation.

She’d wanted to find proof that Morgan Edge, CEO of Galaxy Broadcasting System and owner of the Daily Planet, had ties to Intergang. But what she’d found, in addition to incriminating evidence against Edge implicating him as the leader of the organization, was that the Metropolis-based gang’s reach extends to every continent on Earth.

“What’s your name?” Lois asks the woman, under the guise of being sociable. It’s a fifty-fifty chance she’ll get a fake one.

“Diana.”

It could be true, Lois thinks. The woman _seems_ like a Diana: regal and elegant. Even in this poorly-lit room, she has poise that Lois would wager is nearly unshakeable.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jo,” Diana says.

“Oh, yep—that’s me.” Lois pats the name tag pinned to her collared shirt. According to the papers she’d given Kyle, Lonely Arts’ manager, she’s Josephine March. He hadn’t questioned her—at least, not for her name. Evidently none of the Intergang associates Lois had spoken with had ever read _Little Women_. 

“I’m glad you’ve come to see us, Diana,” Lois says. “People may say that Pam’s shop has a higher calibre of goods, but Lonely Arts has years of history. When it comes to unique gifts, we’re unrivalled. You made a good choice.”

This is Lois’ favourite conversation starter with an Unknown—someone who might be related to Intergang, but who might also be a civilian who has wandered into Lonely Arts Club completely by happenstance. While Kyle is a talented artist and produces many of his own works to sell, the rest of the display is made up of strange items that various members of Intergang have stolen and stashed here, a collection of local art of middling quality that had been acquired without a jurying process in order to fill the shelves, and Lois’ cards.

And Lois Lane isn’t an artist at all.

Mentioning Pam’s shop is sometimes all it takes to spark doubt in a civilian with a genuine desire to buy something nice and no knowledge of quality art. They all trust Lois. If they leave, awkwardly thanking her as they back out the door, they’re innocent.

Mentioning Lonely Arts’ unrivalled history is sometimes all it takes to convince one of Edge’s thugs to brag about whomever they’d killed this week, or the treasures they’d illegally acquired. They don’t know her, but they trust her too, just because she’s there and because she feeds them lines about how powerful they are.

Diana is more Unknown than most. Lois is almost positive she’s not merely a citizen who had wandered into the shop because it was in the neighborhood, or because a friend had recommended it. No one with wealth lives in this neighborhood, and not even Intergang members recommend Lonely Arts to their friends.

“You should not disregard your own talents, Jo,” Diana says. “I am sure you make beautiful art.”

Lois has a steady hand and a binder full of basic tattoo designs that she copies onto folded card stock with a fountain pen. Although the lineart takes a bit of practical skill, only a negligible amount of talent is involved in copying clipart stars. The cards are amateurish at best.

She also makes terrible abstract paintings.

Lois suspects that Diana is a person of actual taste. She had come to Lonely Arts with the intention of buying an item here, and here alone. Lois is determined to uncover her reasons.

“How did you find out about us?” she asks, passing a pair of clumsily-wired beaded earrings to Diana for her consideration. “Friends? Family? Just in the neighborhood?”

“I do not have many acquaintances in Metropolis,” Diana says, running a gentle thumb over the glass beads. “I only recently arrived here from Paris.”

She expects Lois to ask about Paris, Lois is sure. It’s an easy bait for distraction: the romance of Paris appeals to folks here. Most people would ask.

Lois isn’t most people.

“You flew from Paris to visit us?” she asks, with put-on delight. “That’s exciting.”

“To visit Metropolis, yes,” Diana says. “I have heard many tales of this city.”

“You have?” Lois asks, genuinely curious this time. The prospect of news headlines from Metropolis making waves as far as Paris is relevant to her interests.

“In my line of work, I hear many things from all around the world.” Diana hands the earrings back to Diana, and points to a ceramic pendant in a display case. “May I?”

Lois removes the pendant from behind its unnecessary protective glass.

“I am an art restorer,” Diana adds, accepting the pendant. “I like to know the stories of famous artworks, and other historical artifacts.”

Diana’s admission of being an art expert all but confirms that she hadn’t chosen Lonely Arts Club for the quality of its crafts.

“How long have you pursued a career in the arts?” Diana asks, as Lois places the pendant back into the display case.

“A few years,” Lois says.

She hadn’t yet been here four months, and she’d only had a couple days of practise before that. A false identity as an artist was an unusual ask, but the man who’d forged Lois’ papers had owed her a favor.

“What do you know of art history?”

It’s unclear if Diana is seeking to know something specific about her or merely attempting to ascertain whether or not Lois shares her interests.

“I love Van Gogh,” Lois says, because most people do. If she says she knows nothing, Diana may not want to pursue this conversation any further. If she says she knows a great deal, she’ll quickly be out of her depths. Van Gogh is the compromise. It’s ‘I know at least one or two things’.

“ _The Starry Night_ ,” Diana acknowledges, like they’re exchanging secret passcodes. “It is a marvel of colour.”

Diana bends to inspect one of the more curious items in the display case they’ve stopped at: a golden jewelry box inlaid with tiny diamonds that form constellations across its surface. A little card beside it reads 'Not For Sale, Display Only'. It’s Lois’ favourite of Intergang’s stash, shipped here from Greece by one of Intergang’s international associates. 

After a moment, Diana asks: “Have you heard tales of mysterious artifacts arriving in Metropolis? I admit that the rumours make me very curious. I hope to discover that the works are genuine.”

Intergang ships and receives all sorts of strange items through Lonely Arts. The eclectic assortment of pilfered goods doesn’t look out of place against the shop’s murals of street art, spindly lamps, and cracked tiling. Lois doesn’t think that Morgan Edge is interested in art for art’s sake, but she knows all too well that things aren’t always as they seem. Even a painting could disguise something more sinister. Or—more likely—the organization might simply stand to make millions in sales. Kyle had mentioned an upcoming showing of the wares in passing: black tie, black market.

“Metropolis holds all sorts of mysteries,” Lois says. “Although perhaps not as many as Gotham.”

“Between a city known for having secrets and a city known for being a shining center of legitimate business, I would not be surprised if some things are better hidden in the bright lights of Metropolis.”

Although Diana’s tone gives nothing away, Lois feels suddenly known. 

Who is Diana, really? And why is she here? Lois had thought that Diana had come here for Intergang, but it feels more and more as if Diana had come looking for Lois herself.

“I have tickets for an exhibition,” Diana says, “where it is said that many of these items will be on display. The invitation is very mysterious. I think it will be both exciting and enlightening.” She smiles generously. “Would you like to accompany me?”

Lois intends to make a career of reading people, predicting their behaviours and engaging with them in such a way that she is able to uncover their intentions. And even as she’d arrived at the notion that Diana had been seeking her out—well, she hadn’t anticipated this question. She glances behind her; Kyle is in the stockroom and not paying her any mind.

“Me?”

“Like I said, I do not have many acquaintances in Metropolis.” Diana shrugs, and Lois interestedly notices for a second time that her shoulders are surprisingly muscular. “You are an artist. I thought that you might appreciate the history behind these pieces.”

It would be an opportunity to take her investigation up close and personal. Morgan Edge had not specifically extended an invitation to Jo March, however, and she’s not sure that Kyle has the power to grant one. Her presence might be suspicious, even if Diana is a legitimate guest. Still, the sheer amount of evidence she’d be able to collect for her story… it could be a chance to finally wrap this case up, once and for all. “Okay,” Lois says slowly. “I’m definitely interested.”

Diana moves away from the display case and looks to one of Lois’ paintings on the wall: a mix of blue acrylics she’d applied heavy-handedly, with a streak of gold down the middle.

“It will be a fun occasion to dress up.”

“Sounds great,” Lois says, with a smile. As if she was ever going to be able to turn down an event this newsworthy. “Count me in.”

Diana’s answering smile is delighted. “Perfect! Then I will look forward to seeing you again, Jo.” She indicates to Lois’ painting with an index finger. “I would love to buy this one.”

“Oh,” Lois says, surprised. “Are you sure? It’s a little big for carrying to a business meeting.”

“This one is not for my associate. I think it will look nice in my new apartment.” Diana offers Lois her hand, and five hundred-dollar bills. She has a very firm handshake; she’s also even taller than Lois had realized, now that they’re face to face. “Thank you, Jo. It was very nice to meet you. How shall I contact you about the exhibition?”

Lois retrieves one of her business cards from beside the register and passes it to her.

Diana examines the card for a moment, and then slides it into her purse.

Lois would guess that Diana has read _Little Women_. She says nothing about the name, however.

“I’ll email you,” Diana says. Perhaps the simplest statement she’d spoken since her arrival, and yet Lois is none the wiser about what it means.

“I can’t wait,” she says.

* * *

“That’s a pretty lady,” Kyle says, after witnessing the tailend of their transaction. He’d returned to his seat behind the register to continue his work on his latest drawing. “There’s no way she lives in the area.”

“No,” Lois agrees. “She just flew in from Paris.”

Kyle eyes Lois with mild interest. He’s a tall, slight man; handsome, but unassuming. As far as Lois can tell, he’d wanted to make a living as an artist before he’d begun working for Intergang. Perhaps the arts hadn’t been lucrative enough. “Where d’you know a girl like that from, anyway? Do they all look like that where she comes from?” Kyle seems to ponder this idea with some seriousness. “If you went for a visit, I’d be asking you for an extra ticket. Or you could bring me along in your suitcase.”

_Extra ticket._

“Oh.” Lois can’t tell Kyle she doesn’t know Diana at all if she’s going to be her guest at an exclusive Intergang event. But why _would_ Diana know Jo March, visual artist—a woman who doesn’t exist? “We went to Pratt together,” Lois says decisively. “Yeah, she did a semester abroad.”

“Ah, another artist,” Kyle says. “Is she looking for a job?”

He’s joking; it’s not so easy to get a job with Intergang as simply walking in with a pretty face, although it hadn’t been a whole lot harder than that, either. At least, not after Lois had put a little work into her cover. Jo March was an art school grad with a degree in painting, a public exhibition of abstract works at a small local gallery, and five sketchbooks full of miscellaneous drawings Lois had bought from a cash-strapped art major at Metropolis University.

It’s entirely likely that Edge has plans to terminate her when he thinks she knows too much, and not in the “you’re fired” way. Lois certainly isn’t positive of her own safety. But for now, at least, there’s nothing threatening about a lady painter. Plus, she has a good rapport with Kyle and an ear to the ground.

If she’s in trouble, she hopes she’ll hear it coming.

* * *

Diana contacts Lois through Jo March’s professional email with an invitation to meet outside of the Metropolis Museum of Art at 7:30PM on Friday night. She doesn’t offer to pick Lois up, because that would mean asking for an address. She doesn’t offer any other information, either, because that would mean giving Morgan Edge free access to it.

“ _Perfect, see you then_ ,” Lois sends back. And that’s that.

* * *

  
  


Maybe it’s just a date, the part of Lois’ brain that isn’t on the job 24/7 suggests, when Diana gently affixes a beautiful corsage of white roses to her wrist.

Diana is resplendent in a floor-length blue gown, bands of gold framing her neck and wrists. Most of her hair has been tied into a knot at the back of her head, the rest of it twisted into elegant curls that frame both sides of her face.

Lois, too, had made efforts to spiff up for the event. She’d purchased a purple lace dress with off-the-shoulder sleeves, along with some teardrop-shaped earrings that are mostly hidden in her wavy hair. It had _felt_ like she was leaving for a date when she’d pulled on her kitten heels on the way out the door.

But it isn’t a date, because that wouldn’t be logical.

“I am happy you like the flowers,” Diana says, smiling when Lois thanks her. “You spoke so highly of that flower shop near your work, I thought that you would appreciate something from there.”

“I love them,” Lois assures her. She takes Diana’s proffered arm as they climb the museum steps.

“It was very nice of you to invite me,” she tells Diana, as they enter the building with the aid of Diana’s gold-lettered invitations. The bouncer says nothing of Lois’ presence.

“I thought that it would interest you, Lois,” Diana says, once they’re safely inside. “I do not mean to threaten you,” she adds, when Lois flinches. “I simply wished to show you something tonight. I think that it will help to answer some of the questions you have regarding your investigation.”

“Investigation? I don’t know what you mean.”

It’s pointless to feign ignorance, but Lois can’t very well openly admit her mission. There is too much at stake. Her career and her life, for starters.

Diana smiles. “No one is listening to us. Additionally, if anyone finds reason to question your presence here, I will be with you to confirm your invitation.”

Whether or not Lois can discuss her investigation hinges on whether or not she trusts Diana. It could be that Diana is working for Edge himself. Just because Kyle hadn’t recognized her doesn’t prove that Diana is an unrelated third party.

“Please, call me Jo,” Lois says, as if Diana had simply called her ‘Ms March’ or ‘Josephine’, and Lois had sought to make their relationship more familiar. “What are we here to see?”

“Many things, Jo,” Diana says agreeably. “But there are few curiosities in particular I would like to show you.”

The exhibition takes place across the first floor of the museum. Glass cases in the lobby display items that Lois knows to be a part of the museum’s own permanent collection. Waitstaff distribute bite-sized hors d’oeuvres and offer to take coats.

Diana leads Lois through the crowd to one of the side galleries. Ceramics, medieval weaponry, jewelry pieces, and other, stranger items have all been mounted behind thick panels.

“How can a sale of black market goods be held at a public museum?” Lois asks.

“That is the first curiosity,” Diana says.

Lois glances around them, making quick observations about the other guests. “The press is here.” She recognizes a tuxedoed man from Daily Planet stories she’s read about the museum in the past: Director Hall. “And the museum director.” Hall is standing with a woman in a long amethyst gown, a bold contrast to her short, fire-red hair. “And his new wife, Grace.”

“Yes.”

“This isn’t a sale.”

“It is not,” Diana agrees.

She stops at a display that holds a golden box Lois recognizes from Lonely Arts. Lois had never been able to identify any of the constellations, but she can tell that they depict characters. Gods, maybe, belonging to another civilization.

“What do you see when you look at this box, Jo?” Diana asks.

 _A jewelry box_ , someone who isn’t Lois Lane might answer.

Lois looks at the figures moving from one panel to another and says, “A story.”

An appreciative smile touches Diana’s lips. “Exactly.” She regards the diamond figures for a moment, and then turns to Lois. “This is a Themysciran story box.”

“Themysciran,” Lois repeats. “I’ve never heard of Themyscira. Where was it? Mesopotamia?”

“It is an island,” Diana says, “very far away from here.”

Lois notes Diana’s use of present tense, but doesn’t immediately question her.

“This box should not be here,” Diana continues. “It has been taken from its people. I do not know how.”

This admittance, even in such a strange context as this one—an old box, belonging to a people whose existence is unknown to Lois—makes her realize something about the situation they have found themselves in. It is not, as Lois had assumed, simply a matter of Diana asking Lois to trust her. It is also a matter of Diana placing her own trust in Lois. Diana has a case of her own, and believes that Lois can help her… that they can help one another.

“What else shouldn’t be here?” Lois asks.

“Everything,” Diana says. She leads Lois farther into the room to where a gold trident rests against a velvet-wrapped pedestal. Lois had seen it, too, in the stockroom at Lonely Arts. “This trident belongs to a dead king.”

“How old is it?”

Lois senses this had not been the right question, but Diana still answers. “Hundreds of years, at least. Maybe millenia.”

The craftsmanship is too perfect, the condition too pristine, to belong to any ancient civilization Lois had studied in her history classes. “And where did this king rule?”

Diana gazes thoughtfully at the artifact, and says: “Atlantis.”

“Are you for real?” 

“Yes.”

Diana’s tone is so serious that it gives Lois pause. Diana had said when they’d first met that the items arriving in Metropolis were mysterious. And if some of the items were from lost or unknown civilizations, well—if it were true, and the dealers could prove their authenticity, they might fetch millions.

“Why would Intergang go to the trouble of acquiring all these items only to donate them to the museum? That is what’s happening, right? There’s no other reason for the press and the museum director to be here. Even if the director were corrupt, he wouldn’t facilitate illegal sales in public like this.” Lois shakes her head. “Who else was invited to this event?” 

“A few specialists from various walks of the art industry.”

“To verify the authenticity of the items,” Lois surmises. She considers the number of press badges around them. “And to cite their credentials in the news. They must plan to announce the donation publicly this weekend.” Lois shakes her head. “But everything here is stolen. I’ve heard the stories through Edge’s people.”

Lois examines the trident with narrowed eyes. “How can they even report on such fantastical artifacts? The public might buy the backstory of just one item with enough proof, but not all of them. I’ve never even heard of an Atlantis expert who wasn’t immediately dismissed as being delusional.”

Diana steps around to the other side of the trident’s display case. A printed card reads, ‘ _Ancient Greek fishing trident, circa 800 BC. Preserved beneath the Mediterranean Sea, this relic was unearthed in 2009_.’

Someone had fabricated backstories for every item. Lois looks at the trident again. She may not be an expert, but she’s pretty sure that she’s never seen finer metalsmithing work in her life. “And people are really going to buy it?”

“People are willing to believe many things. They will believe that a truth-seeker is a painter if they are pointed in the right direction, and if they wish for what they see to be the truth.” Diana smiles at Lois. “Besides, is it not easier to believe it is an ancient fishing spear than to believe it is a relic of Atlantis?”

Lois isn’t even sure why she believes Diana’s version of events. She’s provided no proof to back up her claims. And yet the circumstances surrounding the collection—the global range of the thefts— _feels_ fantastical.

And Lois has not yet been wrong in trusting her instincts.

“There are more than lies hidden here. Or perhaps,” Diana amends, “I should say that there is more than one kind of lie disguised amongst this crowd. The first is merely that an object is being presented as something other than its true identity.”

“And the second?”

“Come with me,” Diana beckons. “I have something else to show you.”

Diana is stopped more than once on the way to their next destination, which turns out to be in the other hall adjacent to the lobby. Lois takes stock of more items that she passes—in the same gallery as the trident, there’s another curious box that looks as if it might open or change shape at any moment, the surface of which seems to rise and fall softly like the belly of a sleeping animal; in the lobby, a giant penny rests on wide pedestal.

A few of Diana’s global contacts are here, eager to exchange small talk. Unless she’s hired actors to sell Lois on yet another story, it appears that Diana does indeed work in art restoration.

“This is my friend Jo,” Diana tells a colleague from the Louvre. “Jo, this is Annette Villeneuve. Annette is an expert of French paintings from the Renaissance.” 

Annette shakes Lois’s hand politely and returns her attention to Diana. “Diana. Have you seen the Clouet? I had never before laid eyes on this piece, and yet it seems at a glance to be authentic. It is nearly unbelievable that so many precious things become known all at once.”

“It is quite a secret to have kept,” Diana agrees.

As Annette moves away to speak with another acquaintance, Diana turns to Lois. “The painting to which Annette is referring was not made by Jean Clouet. It is not even from the 15th century.”

“I’ve heard about that piece, too,” Lois says. “It was taken from a castle in Italy.”

Diana nods. “It is in fact an Italian artwork. But it is not that old. I believe that it was painted within the last one hundred years.”

“So it’s a very good fake?” Lois asks.

“Anette’s knowledge in her field is incomparable. She could not be fooled by a fake—at least, not such a recent one.”

“So how was she fooled? Or is someone paying her to cover up the truth?”

“That is another one of the number of curiosities here. This is the other item I wanted to show you,” Diana adds, arriving at a display that houses a large green crystalline rock.

Lois examines the label inside the glass case. “ _Torbernite. The Congo_ ,” she reads aloud.

“Torbernite is a mineral that is mildly radioactive. It occurs naturally on Earth, although its appearance alters over time.”

“So it’s a radioactive rock. Are people aware that it’s dangerous? Or, no…” Lois says, realizing that she is once again asking the wrong question. “It’s not even Torbernite, is it? What is this?”

“It is something from another world.”

“A meteorite rock?”

Diana inclines her head. “Yes. But this was no ordinary meteorite. This mineral has properties that have not yet been researched by Earth scientists. It is not known whether or not it is dangerous. It is likely that it has unexpected qualities. If those qualities are dangerous, it is not something that should fall into the wrong hands.”

“If it’s actually dangerous, it probably shouldn’t be at a public museum.” Lois frowns. She feels as if she is only scratching the surface of something that goes much, much deeper than she is able to see.

“Collectors of minerals and other beautiful things are inclined to want those things regardless of the risks associated with them. Torbernite can be made relatively harmless if it is safely stored. If the experts in attendance have been convinced that it is what it claims to be, they will not fear it.”

It occurs to Lois that Diana had known what would be on display before they’d arrived. She’d known of the constructed fictions, and she’d known who would be in attendance. She’d known about Lois before they’d ever met. And yet Lois has learned nothing about how Diana had unearthed this information, nor what her stake in the matter is.

“Diana,” Lois says. “Do you know why Intergang has gathered all of these items in one place?”

“Do you know why the value of a unique treasure decreases greatly after it has been stolen, Jo?”

“Because it’s hard to sell without attracting attention,” Lois says.

“And do you know who, of everyone in the world, is most likely to want that treasure after it has been stolen?”

Lois isn’t convinced that Morgan Edge had amassed this collection of ‘unique treasures’ for personal reasons. Appreciating culture isn’t a necessary component of profiting from it, but true appreciation is a strong motivator, and Edge has none. Lois suddenly realizes the answer to Diana’s question.

“The person it was stolen from.”

“Jo!”

A voice from behind Lois makes her jump. It’s Kyle. She hadn’t known that he would be here. Neither of them had mentioned to the other that they would be in attendance.

“Your French gal pal got you a ticket in, huh?” Kyle asks. He smiles kindly at Diana. “Good to meet you. I’m Kyle. Jo tells me the two of you met at that art school in New York.”

“Pratt,” Lois interjects helpfully, because New York is home to several post-secondary art programs.

“Right,” Kyle says, nodding. “So what’s your story? Do you paint, like Jo here?”

Diana accepts Kyle’s handshake. “It is wonderful to meet you, Kyle. I am Diana. I work with art in Paris, although not my own. It is my honour to work to preserve the past.”

“This stuff must be right up your alley, then.” Kyle looks at a display showcasing a beautifully crafted quiver and a set of arrows with forest-green fletching. “I don’t really get what the big deal is, myself.”

“You’ve seen enough of this stuff for one lifetime, huh?” Lois asks. Her demeanor is open and friendly, but Kyle still turns to her with a frown.

“You best be careful what you say here, Jo. What I’ve seen is none of your business. And it’s no one’s business what you’ve seen, either. You should remember that.”

Lois smiles as naively as she’s able to. “Hey, I’m just here to look. Diana thought I might like to hear about the history behind some of this stuff. It’s really cool.”

“Of course,” Kyle says. “Real cool history. Well, you ladies have yourselves a good time.” He nods politely and then, distracted by the sight of someone else he knows near the gallery entrance, meanders off, whistling Amazing Grace to himself.

“Kyle seems not to be very invested,” Diana comments.

Yes, Lois thinks. There’s a reason Kyle runs Lonely Arts, and it’s not because the man’s got a modicum of passion for crime. Maybe the same person who is manipulating Diana’s colleague, Annette, is the same person manipulating Kyle.

“Someone could be controlling all of these people,” Lois realizes. “Bribes. Blackmail.”

Diana looks back at her with inscrutable eyes. “Yes.”

“Is that a yes, you know this is true? Or a yes, you had the same thought?” 

“I have no evidence to confirm that my suspicions are true,” Diana says. “I hoped that you might be able to assist me.”

“I don’t even know what we’re looking for.”

“You know what questions to ask. This skill will always lead you in the right direction.”

Lois is reluctantly pleased by the compliment. “Usually,” she says. And then: “These unusual items have been sourced from a lot of different places. What ties them together? What’s the endgame here?”

“Exactly,” Diana says. “While the provenance of each item is fascinating, an individual item is only a single loop in a larger chain. Once they are linked together, more pressing questions make themselves known. I think that even Morgan Edge is just one piece of this equation. This operation must have required a great deal of global intelligence in order to locate and acquire the collection we see before us. Who else has access to such vast resources?”

Lois waits. When Diana doesn’t continue, Lois prompts her with, “Who?”

“That is what I would like to know.”

“Diana,” Lois says, “why does this matter so much to you?”

Diana seems to contemplate the question. This time Lois trusts that Diana will offer an answer, so she waits silently, making note of passersby before returning her attention to Diana’s pensive face.

“It was a single piece that captured my attention, at first,” Diana says finally. “I learned of it when a colleague in France returned from a sojourn in Greece. He had visited the most wondrous piece of sculpted gold, the likes of which he had never seen before, in a private collection. He showed me a photograph he had taken. The item was one that I recognized from my childhood: it told the beginning of a story I would hear many times throughout my youth. I knew then that something was wrong. The item should never have been removed from its home. It does not belong to this world. I sought to find the collector that had acquired it, but by the time I located him, it was no longer in his possession. He had been beaten badly. He told me that he had agreed to sell the item to a buyer in the city of Metropolis, in America.

“It was after I arrived in Metropolis that I began to hear whispers of other things that should not be here. Things that should be with the people who created them, or that are so strange that no one at all should own them.”

Lois thinks, for the first time, that Diana looks sad. The item she’d recognized had meant something to her personally. She wonders if, after they uncover the truth, there will be a way to send it home.

“What was the item?” Lois asks, although she thinks she already knows. An item she’d seen every day at Lonely Arts since its arrival a few weeks ago. The very first item that Diana had shown her. The golden box from Themyscira. A story told in constellations.

Diana looks toward the door. “I think it is time that we leave, Jo March,” she says.

It’s almost 10 PM. Lois should be heading home, too. But—

“Let me give you my number,” she says. “For my personal cell.”

“The exhibition will open to the public tomorrow tonight,” Diana says. “After the papers are delivered in the morning, it will be a big event. You’ve worked for Intergang through Lonely Arts, but you are not loyal to them. In the eyes of the Morgan Edge and his collaborators, you are a bystander to their conspiracy. There is every chance that between now and tomorrow evening, someone will try to kill you.”

Diana’s directness is appreciated, at least. “The thought had occurred to me,” Lois says.

“You do not seem afraid,” Diana remarks.

Lois _is_ afraid, but she’s even more frustrated. She’s so close to putting a bow on this case. “If I skip town now, I don’t get to finish the story I’ve been working on for the past four months.”

“If you like, you can stay with me,” Diana says.

“At your place?”

Diana just looks at her expectantly.

“Are you offering to—to protect me?” Lois asks. She doesn’t think that Diana has ulterior motives in inviting her over.

Not that Lois would mind if she did.

“You will be safer with me,” Diana says.

“Okay,” Lois says, because Diana looks like she’d be better in a fight than Lois would be, and because Lois is very, very single and she’s not exactly excited to sit alone in her own apartment on a Friday night. “We can solve this together.”

“Together,” Diana echoes with a smile.

* * *

Diana’s apartment betrays very little about her. Lois hadn’t expected anything else—after all, Diana hadn’t lived here long—but she had still hoped to learn something new about her mysterious acquaintance. A photograph, a handmade mug; indications of family, of romantic involvements, of anything.

The walls are white, the way they would have come when the original buyer had acquired the space. Everything looks pristine and nearly untouched. There are no boxes to unpack, spilling over into the entranceway. The kitchen holds the bare minimum behind glass cupboard doors: white plates and bowls, colourless water glasses, a set of wine glasses, two crystal champagne flutes. Lois wonders idly if Diana had purchased those for herself or if they had been given to her as a gift from a colleague or admirer, along with a bottle.

There are two art reproductions hung in the hallway: _The Kiss_ by Gustav Klimt, and a _Le Chat Noir_ cabaret poster. Both generic choices. It’s possible Diana likes them, but even more likely that she’d simply chosen them because they revealed nothing of her tastes.

_(“What do you know of art history?”_

_“I love Van Gogh.”)_

In fact, the only personal touch that Lois can immediately find is her own abstract painting, which Diana had hung in her kitchen next to the table.

“Are you hungry?” Diana asks.

“I could go for a snack,” Lois says. She watches as Diana procures two plates from the cupboard. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Please, sit,” Diana says. “I will only be a minute.”

Lois sits.

The items that appear next are slightly more unique than the ones that are openly on display. An exquisitely crafted wooden board. A small bone-handled knife. And from the fridge, a decorated glass bowl filled with green grapes, a package of goat cheese, a jar of whole purple olives, and apricot jelly purchased from a local farmer’s market. All of these items join the loaf of fresh bread and the bottle of olive oil that had already been sitting on the table when Lois had arrived.

“This looks lovely, Diana, thank you.”

Diana smiles warmly. “Can I offer you a drink?”

“Water would be great,” Lois says. “But I wouldn’t say no to a glass of wine.”

After Diana fills two glasses—red wine, not the champagne Lois had assumed she might have stashed somewhere—she joins Lois at the table.

“I am happy you agreed to stay with me. It is good to have company in this mission. I am often working alone these days. It is not in our nature, as Amazons.”

Lois spits out an olive pit onto her plate as politely as she can muster, and makes a quick decision not to eat any more of the olives in front of Diana. “Amazons?” she asks with interest, reaching for an innocuous slice of bread instead. The darkness of the sky outside the kitchen window makes the room seem smaller and more intimate.

“The Amazons of Themyscira.”

“Would you expand on that?”

“It is not a story that many believe.”

“I might,” Lois says.

“I know.” Diana smiles. “You have faith in people, Lois Lane.” A small thrill goes through Lois at the sound of her name on Diana’s lips, very unlike the ripple of apprehension she’d felt at the museum. “Faith in their goodness and in their honesty. This is why I will tell you my truth.”

There’s a moment’s pause while Diana slices herself a piece of bread. Lois waits with great curiosity for her to speak.

“For most of my life,” Diana starts, “I lived amongst my sisters, the Amazons, on the island of Themyscira. The Amazons are fierce warriors, but they allowed themselves to become cut off from the rest of the world. Mankind had betrayed them a long time ago, and after they freed themselves, they wished only to live in peace. When I learned of the suffering of Mankind, however, I could not bear to stay. I left Themyscira to help.”

Diana dips her bread in a pool of olive oil, and then sets it back on her plate without taking a bite.

“The history of the Amazons is preserved by telling stories. Objects created to record our histories are not critical to this preservation, as an Amazon will never die of old age on Themyscira, but they are beloved nonetheless. My mother, Queen Hippolyta, told me stories of the war between the Amazons and Mankind as she remembered them. We like to tell stories, and to hear the stories of others.

“When I saw the story box in my colleague’s photograph, I did not know what had happened. I feared for my sisters. There are very few people that can fight an Amazon and win honourably—but Man oftens forgets his honour.” Diana closes her eyes briefly, saddened. “I wondered then if an Amazon had bestowed this story upon someone else, as a gift. I do not think so, however. In all my time on Themyscira, we had only one visitor from Man’s world.”

“Someone stole it, then?” Lois asks, rather than questioning the existence of immortal warrior women hidden on a remote island.

Diana is sitting right in front of her, after all. Against reason, Lois finds that believing Diana is an Amazon of Themyscira is easier than believing she’s a normal human woman, even if that normal human woman did come from Paris.

“Yes,” Diana says. “But still that leaves many questions unanswered. Who stole it? How did they pass the guards? Why bring it to Metropolis?”

Lois frowns, thoughtful.

“I haven’t told you how I came to ask for your help, Lois,” Diana acknowledges. 

“How _did_ you find me?”

Diana chews a bit of her bread thoughtfully, and then says: “I only found you because I wasn’t looking. That is to say: I was looking for answers about who was buying and selling strange artifacts in Metropolis. I was not looking for another truth-seeker.”

Lois likes it when Diana says that; it sounds more noble than ‘reporter’. _Truth-seeker_. Seeking the truth is exactly the pursuit that Lois has dedicated herself to.

“It was by following the story box that I arrived at Lonely Arts Club. The box had passed into the hands of a man named Kyle Rayner. It was Kyle who purchased the box from the collector I met in Greece, and had it transported to America. The collector did not know where the box came from. I believed him when he told me this, as I am usually able to compel the truth. All that he could tell me was Kyle’s name, his own name, and that he himself had stolen the box.”

“Wait.” Lois shakes her head. “How did you know _I_ was investigating Kyle?”

“I had a feeling.”

“No one else has questioned my cover.”

“No one else has read _Little Women_ ,” Diana says with a smile.

“Was that what tipped you off? If anyone asks, it was my mother’s favourite book.” Lois shrugs a shoulder. “No one _has_ asked.”

Diana plucks a bunch of grapes from the bowl and sets about removing each grape from its stem into her mouth. She crunches loudly on them. In the quiet kitchen, the indelicate sound surprises Lois. “I had a feeling before you gave me your chosen name,” Diana says, after she’s finished her grapes and taken a sip of wine. “You select your words with care. I was pleased to speak with someone so thoughtful and articulate, and curious, too. Your company felt like that of my sisters on Themyscira.

“It was not anything of your doing, merely your presence there, that made me wonder about your intentions. Someone like you, Lois Lane, notices unusual occurrences. I wished to speak with you further.”

Lois is touched by this confession. How does she tell a 6-foot-tall Amazon warrior that it’s refreshing to be appreciated for her talents after hiding them behind the veneer of a false identity for months? How does she say that the notion of her own presence reminding Diana of home renders her—a thoughtful and articulate person—a little lost for words?

“I’m glad you noticed me, then,” she says. It’s too simple—nearly glib—but Lois isn’t a flowery person. And she truly is glad for it.

Not only for the case, but because she’s enjoying Diana’s company, too.

“I wondered for a minute if you were asking me out,” she says, because she thinks they might laugh about it.

“I did ask you out,” Diana says reassuringly.

“On a date, I mean.”

Diana laughs. “It could have been a date.” Her tone is playful. Lois isn’t sure what to make of it.

“It evidently wasn’t your intention for it to be a date. Wasn’t I your ‘new business associate’?”

“I had not considered whether it was or was not a date,” Diana says. “Can meeting with someone at a museum not be a date? I will admit I have not participated in many traditional courting rituals, although I have heard about some of them.”

Lois certainly believes that Diana isn’t from around here.

“Lois,” Diana says, “did you want our evening at the museum to be a date?”

Feeling a little put on the spot, Lois says, “Well.” 

“Well then, it was a date.” Diana smiles warmly at her.

“It doesn’t really work like that.”

Diana’s fingers come to rest against Lois’ wrist where she’d worn the corsage earlier, her hand extended across the small kitchen table to just barely touch Lois where her arms are folded in front of her chest. “Two people spend time together. One hopes for the evening to be a date. The other agrees. It can be that simple.”

Lois bites her lip. It’s unlike her not to have all the words, the questions, the lit-up pathways to the answers she seeks. She says, “And tonight?”

“Tonight can be a second date.”

“I think it counts more as an extension of the first,” Lois says, with an amused smile. “People often say that the second date is more important than the first,” she adds.

“But if the first goes poorly, the second may never happen.” Diana’s fingers extend further and she gently takes Lois’ hand in her own.

“And if the second goes poorly, then no one gets kissed,” Lois says.

“Is the second date going well?”

“I’ll let you know if we get there,” Lois says. “Right now I’m eating fancy cheese in a beautiful woman’s beautiful apartment. That’s leagues better than most first or second dates I’ve had.”

“I’m glad you are enjoying your food.”

Lois leans forwards a little over the table, toward Diana. “I should apologize,” she says.

“What for?”

Lois wants very much to touch Diana—her hair, the side of her neck, anywhere she can reach. Diana’s eyes hold as much mystery as they had when Lois had first seen her. “For derailing the conversation. We were discussing business. I made it personal.”

“This matter has always been personal, Lois,” Diana says. “For both of us, I think.”

She’s right. “I just need to get something out of this,” Lois tells her. “There was always a chance I’d fail. But I knew there was a big story here—I _knew_ it.”

“How long have you lived in Metropolis?” Diana asks.

“Not that long.”

“You came here for work?”

“Yes,” Lois says. “I moved around a lot when I was growing up. Lots of small towns. My dad’s in the army. I didn't mind the changes. I got to meet all types of people. I got to hear their stories. I’ve always been curious, so I’d ask questions. I’ve always been a writer, too, and so I’d write the answers down.”

Diana listens silently as Lois continues.

“I went for an interview at the Daily Planet not long after I arrived in Metropolis. I’d been to college for journalism and I’d contributed to a number of small publications. The Planet is a very respected newspaper. It was going to be the next step in my ten-year career plan.”

“Surely the interview went well,” Diana says.

“That’s the thing. I never made it to the interview.”

Diana’s eyebrows raise in surprise.

“I was in the elevator, mentally preparing for it, and then the doors opened. When I stepped out of the elevator, two men were waiting on the landing. They were arguing as they went past me. I heard one of them say, ‘Our guy didn't make it back with the artifact. He washed up on the shores of Karpathos with the thing in his pocket. Someone beachgoer robbed his corpse. I had to get one of our contacts in Greece to clean up his mess.’ And the other man asked, ‘So do you have it now?’ The first man answered yes, but that _she_ wasn’t happy. As the doors closed behind them, the other man said: ‘Don’t come here again with that kinda talk.’ And then ‘I’ll kill the story.’

“I was going to ask the receptionist who the men were—I was going to say that they looked important, that I was new, that I was just here for an interview and was keen to meet everyone. But I noticed a photo on the wall. I’d seen Morgan Edge’s name before when I was preparing for my interview. His company, Galaxy Broadcasting System, owns the Daily Planet. They were speaking in undertones. I knew in my gut that there was a story to pursue. I was also positive that they hadn’t seen me, and that if I was right about the scoop and I started asking questions within the Planet, I’d be found out within a week."

Lois grips the side of the kitchen table. She remembers the way her heart had raced as she’d run down ten flights of stairs, getting to the lobby in time to hear Morgan phone in a ride for his companion, Kyle, to ‘Lonely Arts’.

She could have still made the interview. She’d arrived early enough. But she’d made a decision: between the story and the job, she’d picked the story.

After this exposé, Lois Lane would be a hot commodity. It had been simple, in the moment. She’d _needed_ to do it.

“You trusted your instincts,” Diana says. “And you were right. You are very much like an Amazon: courageous and sure. You will win this fight, Lois.”

“It’s nice to hear my own name,” Lois tells Diana. “I was surprised by how much you can lose yourself in fiction.”

“That is because you are an honest person.”

“I try to be.” Lois thinks about her own story, and about Diana’s. She thinks about how one investigation had brought together two individuals with a personal stake in the matter. And if it means so much to two people who aren’t even visibly associated with the conflict, surely the scope of invested parties—

_(“And do you know who, of everyone in the world, is most likely to want that treasure after it has been stolen?”_

_“The person it was stolen from.”)_

—is as vast as the collection itself.

“What do your instincts tell you about the people from whom the artifacts were stolen?” Diana asks, arriving at the same place Lois had just a moment before.

Lois shakes her head. “I’m not sure. It’s outside the scope of what I thought this was about. I mean—Amazons, Atlanteans, aliens. I just knew that Edge was in on it. And I knew that his company was burying reports on the thefts, and any related injuries or deaths. Before today, I thought this was just about the money. Now it seems to be about something else.”

“If it’s not about the money, then it is about the people,” Diana agrees.

“You,” Lois says suddenly.

“Pardon?”

“You came to Metropolis because the story box was stolen. Do you think that other people—the people who’ve had priceless, irreplaceable items stolen—have also come here to recover what was taken from them?”

“I think that if they are not here yet, they will be tomorrow,” Diana says.

“The press coverage will lure them here,” Lois realizes. “All these different people will be forcibly drawn to one place. Why, though?”

Diana shakes her head. “I do not know.”

They sit in silence for a minute before Diana stands to put the uneaten food back into the fridge. Lois washes their plates in the sink in an effort to be helpful.

“I think, perhaps,” Diana says when the kitchen has been tidied up, “that sleep may be helpful to us. In the morning, we may find a new perspective that we have not yet considered. Will you stay with me?” She directs a smile in Lois’ direction, a good-natured twinkle in her eye. “Or I can take the couch if you do not wish to share.”

“Oh, no, sharing is good,” Lois says quickly.

Diana’s bedroom is adjacent to the living room, and contains more of her personal items than the rest of the apartment. Lois admires the open closet of beautiful dresses, shirts, and blazers. A cylindrical necklace holder displays shining gold pieces.

A sword and shield are mounted on the wall in a way that could pass off as decorative; Lois guesses, however, that they aren’t decor at all.

Having arrived here from the museum, Lois hadn’t exactly packed an overnight bag. She hovers next to the bed as Diana divests herself of her blue gown and replaces her bracelets on the holder. The light from the bedside table is a warm yellow, and it paints Diana in hues of gold. Lois tries not to stare at the muscles that ripple over Diana’s back as she reaches up to remove the pins from her hair.

“You can borrow one of my shirts for sleeping,” Diana says, once she’s changed into a pyjama outfit. Even in shorts and a V-neck tee, she looks breathtaking. Her hair falls in soft, shiny waves around her shoulders, reflecting the lamplight beside her.

She finds a button-up shirt for Lois, which falls mid-thigh on her, and a pair of loose-fitting pants that Lois rolls up at the ankle so as not to trip over them. She uses Diana’s mouthwash and her hairbrush in the en-suite bathroom, which feels intrusive, but Diana had insisted that she borrow anything she needs.

Diana is already in bed when Lois returns, reading the Gotham Gazette. At Lois’ raised eyebrow, she smiles and says, “I like to know what’s going on in our sister city.”

“Crime and corruption,” Lois says. “Urban legends. Bruce Wayne. The holy trifecta of Gotham news.” She hops up onto the bed and slides her legs under the covers, pulling the duvet up to her waist. Diana’s sheets are like velvet. Lois sighs contentedly. “Okay. I could get used to this.”

“It’s comfortable,” Diana agrees.

Lois runs her hands over her legs from overtop the duvet, enjoying the softness of the material against her palms. “Thanks again for the invite, Diana,” she says. “It was nice spending the evening with you, even if the circumstances were unusual.”

Diana’s answering smile is so dazzling that Lois can feel something inside her begin to melt from the brightness of it. The way that her smile lights up her entire face—her eyes at once joyful and endlessly kind—makes Lois certain, suddenly, that she has never seen a more beautiful woman in her life.

“I am glad you are here, Lois,” Diana says. She sets her newspaper on the bedside table, and Lois gets ready to sleep, laying her head against the pillow and watching as Diana reaches to switch the lamp off.

Lois’ eyes adjust to the darkness; Diana had left the curtain partially open and the city lights below provide enough illumination that her outline is still visible without the lamp. Lois rolls to face the other side, away from the window and from Diana.

“Goodnight, Diana,” she says.

She scoots backward after a moment’s hesitation til she’s in the middle of the bed, close enough to feel Diana’s body heat, but not touching her. A moment after that, Diana drapes an arm over Lois, closing the gap between them, her chest pressed up against Lois’ back, her knees against the back of Lois’ thighs.

Lois reaches for Diana’s hand, pulling her even closer as she intertwines their fingers.

“Goodnight, Lois,” Diana says softly, and Lois can feel the words ghost over her shoulder.

* * *

Diana is already up and dressed when Lois wakes. Lois finds her in the kitchen, slicing vegetables for omelettes. “Are there any foods you do not like?” she asks, as Lois sits down at the kitchen table.

“None that you’d find in an omelette,” Lois says.

The kitchen already feels comfortable and familiar to Lois, even though it’s brightly lit by the morning sun now, casting it in a different hue than it had been during their first conversation here. Diana soon joins her with the omelettes, which are filled with bell pepper, spinach, sun-dried tomatoes, and the goat cheese from the night before. She’d brewed a pot of coffee, too; Lois gratefully accepts a cup.

“You’ll be interested to read the news today, I am sure,” Diana says. She has orange juice rather than coffee, and a glass of ice water as well.

“Do you get the Daily Planet?”

Diana offers up the paper. She is wearing a curious pair of silver wrist bracers that feel incongruous with her white blouse.

The front page of the Planet’s weekend edition reports on the donations of rare artifacts and artworks to the Metropolis Museum, and the story had made it into the front page of the Gotham Gazette, too.

“There’s not even a theme besides ‘all of these items were donated by the same entity’, Lois says. “They’re promoting the show as being an anonymous, private collection that has finally been brought to light after years. But if anyone investigates—and people _will_ investigate eventually—they’ll realize that all this stuff was stolen.”

“It may not matter what people find out eventually,” Diana says. “So long as the show opens tonight, their purpose has likely been fulfilled. For now, they only needed to convince the museum team of the legitimacy of the items.”

“That part doesn’t make sense either. Wouldn’t the director want to know where this stuff came from?”

“Normally yes,” Diana agrees. “But it is quite possible that Mr. Hall is not himself right now.”

“Don’t tell me he’s an alien in disguise.”

Diana shakes her head. “My guess is that—” She freezes mid-sentence, standing up so quickly that her chair pushes backward against the tile floor with a loud scraping sound.

“Diana—” Lois starts.

There’s someone outside the window.

“Get down,” Diana says, and the floor-to-ceiling glass shatters to smithereens.

* * *

Lois opens bleary eyes. There is a dull brightness above her like sunlight blotted out by a thick fog. There’s a ringing in her ears, too—shrill and ceaseless. It hurts her head. She squints her eyes shut again.

Someone’s hand touches her cheek, and there’s a voice—Lois can’t make out the words. The hand taps the side of her face with gentle, insistent fingers.

“Lois!”

The voice cuts through the tintinnabulation in Lois’ head. This time, when she half-opens her eyes, she can make out the outline of a person crouched above her. Her eyes adjust to the light and she opens them wider.

“Diana.”

“Lois. You’re okay.”

Diana’s voice sounds strange, but it could just be the temporary hearing loss. Lois remembers the explosion now—an assault of light and sound and—

And why isn’t she skewered with shrapnel?

“Where are we?” she asks.

“Are you in pain?”

Only her head. She should be seriously injured. Shouldn’t she?

Lois tries to push herself up. It doesn’t hurt her body, but she feels dizzy. The surface she’s lying on is cushioned, the texture leather-like against her fingertips. Diana’s hand catches the small of her back, helping her into a sitting position. Lois can feel the metal of Diana’s bracers through her blouse, smooth and sun-warmed. Her vision is slowly clearing.

“We’re at my apartment,” she says. “How…”

“I was not sure where else to bring you. We will be safe here for a while. I am sorry I could not ask for your permission.”

“Okay,” Lois says. She decides that she doesn’t care at all that Diana had somehow figured out where she lived and possibly committed breaking and entering in order to deposit Lois’ unconscious form onto her own couch. Lois will take that in stride for now. On the other hand… “There was a woman,” she says. “There was a woman _outside your window_.”

“Yes,” Diana agrees.

“Okay,” Lois says again. And then: “She tried to kill us. With a magic stick.”

Lois recalls the brief moment in which she’d seen the woman's face behind Diana. She’d been wearing a hooded cloak that obscured her hair; Lois feels like she’d seen that face before, but she can’t place how or where. She voices this aloud to Diana.

“You have seen her before,” Diana says. “We both have.”

“The museum director’s wife,” Lois realizes. “Grace Hall.”

“I recognized the technology that Grace was wielding. It explains a great deal about how Intergang was able to expand their reach as far as Themyscira and Atlantis.”

“So it’s tech,” Lois says. “They’re not aliens?”

“It is alien tech. Grace is from a planet called Apokolips. It is a place of misery and war. I heard tales of Apokolips as a child, as well as its vicious ruler, Darkseid.”

“Those sound like they’d be cheery tales.”

“Indeed they weren't,” Diana acknowledges. “A long time ago, there was a war on Earth. All of her armies worked together to battle Darkseid: Amazons, Altanteans, and Mankind, fighting side-by-side. While Mankind forgot this war over time, the Amazons and the Atlanteans still remember. To this day, Apokolips still has access to hundreds of weapons able to cause destruction far beyond the capabilities of human warfare.”

“So if they want to wipe us out, they will.”

“Yes—and no. If Grace is targeting certain individuals, then she knows that Earth is still home to many who can and will challenge her. Perhaps she even has knowledge that in the future, Darkseid or his acolytes will attack Earth and lose the fight. If Earth’s warriors have been summoned to Metropolis, Grace will not be planning a peaceful union.

“Her staff can generate powerful energy blasts. That is what she used to attack us this morning. But I believe that it is also capable of creating Boom Tubes—essentially, a portal to another place in time or space. She will have used that to transport herself from Apokolips to Earth, and would certainly be able to access Themyscira using that technology. She may have even travelled here from the future.”

Lois digests this information slowly. Portals, possible time travel, alien war planets. 

_Earth’s warriors._

Of course, Lois thinks. Of course that was the common thread all along. Lois looks at Diana and believes fully that she would defend this planet with all of her strength.

Focusing for a moment on one of the first things that Diana had said, she asks: “Why didn't Grace’s energy blast kill us?”

“I was able to deflect it back at her.”

“But you didn't have your shield in the kitchen,” Lois says. “Did you?” She looks to where Diana’s arms rest, slightly crossed, over her knees. “No. Magic bracelets?”

“Of sorts,” Diana says with a smile.

Lois settles herself into the corner of the couch, knees drawn up toward her chest as she thinks. The sky had clouded over since breakfast, and Diana had switched a lamp on before Lois had woken up; beside her, its light illuminates familiar objects. Lois is acutely aware of the difference between her home and Diana’s: that Diana’s reveals very little of its inhabitant, whereas Lois’ reveals small pieces of her in every aspect of its decor. She hadn’t displayed her degree in journalism, but Lois’ inquisitive personality had not been dissonant with an artist like the fictional Jo March, and as such, she’d fleshed out details of Jo’s life with details from her own.

No one from Lonely Arts had ever visited her home, to her knowledge. But it had felt prudent to seem like a real person, in case anyone ever came snooping. Books spill from the shelves behind the couch: classics Lois had studied in school, and childhood favourites, and others she’d picked up at the secondhand store to fill in the gaps. Photographs from travelling she’d done, places she’d lived, and cutouts from National Geographic of countries she’d never stepped foot in. Trinkets and art pieces, some inherited from grandparents, even more purchased at a yard sale on the drive into Metropolis.

There are pieces of Lois Lane everywhere, scattered amongst insignificant filler.

“This lamp has seen many years,” Diana remarks.

“It’s changed houses as many times as I have,” Lois says. She’s not surprised, somehow, that Diana had pointed out an object that was truly Lois’ and not part of a fiction at all. “After I went to bed, I’d use this light to write. When I heard my parents coming up the stairs, I’d turn it off and pretend to be asleep. As soon as I was sure they were in bed, I’d turn it back on and keep writing.”

“You have always loved to write?”

“Stories are how I make sense of the world.”

Diana nods. “It is important that the world has people like yourself. We need to hear the stories of others.”

“I’d love to hear more of yours, in time,” Lois says.

“I am sure that you will.”

They exchange a smile, Lois stretching her legs out to poke Diana with her feet. Diana shifts to make space for her, resting a hand against Lois’ calf.

“Grace is going to attack the opening gala,” Lois adds.

“She will try,” Diana agrees.

“How do we stop her?”

“Do you remember the other box you saw last night?” At Lois’ nod, Diana continues. “It is called a Mother Box. The Mother Box is the one piece of Apokoliptian technology that belongs to Mankind. Since Grace hasn’t stolen the box to use herself, I am convinced she doesn’t know the true extent of its power—or if she knows that it is powerful, she intends to destroy it along with the person whose attention she was attracting when she collected it.”

“What does it do?”

“Many things. Mostly importantly, it has the power to create Boom Tubes, just as Grace’s staff does.”

“So we can send her back to her own planet?”

“It takes time to actualize a Boom Tube—at least a minute for the portal to open and to become stable enough to travel through.”

“She might be expecting us to try something,” Lois says, “because we survived her attack.”

“That will make it a little more challenging to acquire the Mother Box.”

“And then make a portal and push her into it,” Lois adds.

“That too.”

“How, then?”

“You have done your research, Lois—and I have done mine. While Grace has lured Earth’s warriors into a trap before we have become known to one another, that does not mean that some of us have not begun to search for others like ourselves.”

Lois realizes what she’s saying. “You know someone who can help us.”

Diana smiles. “I might.”

* * *

The exhibition opening is a controlled pandemonium when Lois and Diana pass by the Metropolis Museum. Hundreds of people have already gathered in and around the building, representatives from every news source swarming like bees through the main entrance. A dozen security guards herd people without press badges into a jagged line. 

Diana had borrowed one of Lois’ blazers to put on over her white blouse, and Lois—who had still been wearing Diana’s shirt when Grace had interrupted their breakfast—had changed into a tan pantsuit.

“Is your friend here yet?” Lois asks.

Diana quirks an eyebrow. “I can assure you he does not think of me as a friend. But he’s smart enough to know that what I told him is true. His own research will confirm it.” She nods toward an approaching limousine. “He is arriving now.”

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me,” Lois says.

Bruce Wayne greets them on the sidewalk around the corner from the museum with a smile that looks all the more insincere next to Diana, whose own smile is always as genuine as it is mysterious. “I got your message,” he says to Diana. “I’ll help you. Just don’t break into my stuff again.”

“It is not my fault that your ‘stuff’ is not secure,” Diana tells him, taking his arm as a couple interested members of the public turn their eyes in Wayne’s direction on the way to join the line-up.

“I’ve never had a security breach before. Well, except for the one you knew about.”

“You’ve never known someone like me before.”

“That’s true,” Wayne acknowledges. He offers Lois his hand to shake. “Bruce Wayne. And you are?”

“Lois Lane,” Lois says, before her cover identity even surfaces in her mind.

Well, she supposes the truths are all coming out of the woodwork tonight anyway.

“Lois is my date,” Diana says matter-of-factly, making Lois smile despite herself. “She is an incredible person. She’s also the reason you are about to have such an exciting business meeting.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Lane.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, I’m sure,” Lois says.

Trusting Bruce Wayne to help save the world might be the biggest leap of faith Diana has asked of her yet. With that height and build, though, Lois imagines that at least he wouldn’t be entirely useless in a fight, if it came to that.

Diana guides Lois and Wayne a little farther from the street corner. “Lois,” she says, “Bruce knows more than you think. Later on, he will tell you why.”

Wayne narrows his eyes, but says nothing.

“Bruce?” Diana asks. “Were you able to determine the means with which Grace plans to attack the event?” 

“There’s a bomb in the rock,” Wayne says.

The maybe-radioactive green space crystal. Lois wonders what its true effects are. Radioactive or not, though, little shards of crystal exploding into a crowd of people would only make the explosion more deadly.

“I’m ready to tell this story,” Lois says.

Diana catches her hand and squeezes it gently, fueling Lois’ courage. “I’ll see you soon,” she says. She pulls away from Wayne. “Good luck to all of us.”

Lois watches as Diana heads back toward the museum and Wayne heads back toward his limo. After a moment, she turns and walks in the opposite direction.

* * *

The feeling of déja vu Lois gets as she crosses the first floor of the Daily Planet skyscraper is not unexpected, but pressing the button for the elevator still brings strong feelings rushing back to her. She’d been so confident about working here, so sure she’d get the job and set her life onto a normal, professional path. Instead, she’d chased a hunch about a gang story into an interplanetary conspiracy. Her fingers grip her shoulder bag tightly as she focuses on looking like an ordinary visitor.

A woman sidles up next to her. Lois doesn’t need to look to know who it is.

Grace follows Lois into the elevator. Neither says a word until the doors close and Lois presses the button for the twenty-fifth floor.

“What’s in the bag?” Grace asks. She’s wearing her purple cloak overtop a short plum-coloured dress and knee-high boots. Her fiery hair is kept back from her face with a headband. She’s holding the magic staff in one hand like a walking cane.

“A story,” Lois says. Her heart is beating rapidly; she ignores it. “I thought that it might interest the editor.”

“I’m sure you did.”

Grace lets another moment of silence pass between them as the elevator inches upward.

“I’m surprised your Amazon friend isn’t here to protect you,” Grace says. “You could have jeopardized my little operation, sticking your nose into all the wrong places. You’re too late, though. There’s nothing that you or the Princess can do to stop me now. After tonight, the Earth will be defenseless to Darkseid’s armies, and I will be hailed as his greatest servant.”

Lois can’t help her outburst. “That’s what you want? You went through all this trouble just so that your twisted overlord will like you best?”

“Quiet,” Grace snaps. “If you speak another word against him, I will cut out your tongue.”

“You shouldn’t have followed me,” Lois says, as the elevator passes the twentieth floor. “All I have is a story. And I have a feeling that you’re not the type of person who’s afraid of the power of words.”

( _“Forgive me,”_ she’d said to Diana only a week ago. _“You don’t seem like the type of person I usually meet here.”_

She hadn’t known what type of person Diana was then. But she knows now. Diana is a truth-seeker, just like Lois. Diana is someone who knows that words can make an impact as effectively as fists can.)

“Where is the Princess, then?”

“She’s right where you want her to be. Only she isn’t alone. She figured out what you were going to do. While you were on your way to have a chat with me, she was already stealing your detonation device.”

“You’re lying,” hisses Grace.

“Maybe I am,” Lois says. “But do you really want to risk it?”

The elevator dings to a stop at the twenty-fifth floor, and the doors open. Grace moves to block Lois’ exit and mashes the Close Doors button. “Let’s go see if you’re playing games with me,” she says. “We should have a wonderful view of the explosion from the roof. I’ll be leaving from there once the deed is done.” She leans closer to Lois as the elevator continues even higher. “I can fly from that high up,” she murmurs, her breath hot on Lois’ cheek. “Can you?”

Lois stands her ground, refusing the flinch as Grace laughs to herself.

“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” Grace says.

She pushes Lois out onto the roof when the doors open for the second time, forcing her forward toward the West-facing side of the building with the end of her staff.

There are sirens everywhere. Flashing red lights flood the streets toward the museum down below.

“Looks like something interesting must have happened,” Lois says. “Doesn’t seem like anything exploded, though.”

Grace shoves Lois against the wall that surrounds the roof, the small of her back jammed harshly into the concrete barrier, her head thrown back. Her heart pounds in her ears. Grace’s staff presses horizontally against her upper body, bruising her collarbones.

She feels precarious but alive, because she knows what Grace does not.

Diana is standing behind her.

A second later, Grace is yanked backward, a golden rope around her throat. She hits the pebbled rooftop with a crunching sound, and Diana kneels against her chest to pin her, hands around Grace’s wrists.

Lois looks up as a helicopter approaches from overheard, the howl of its propellers nearly deafening as Lois moves away from the edge of the roof to stand with Diana, her headache from earlier creeping back.

Wayne hops down from the cockpit with the box cradled in his arms.

“Is it started?” Diana asks. Her face is twisted in a grimace as she exerts all of her effort toward keeping Grace from escaping. Grace writhes against her, kicking forcefully, equally matched to Diana in strength.

“Not yet. I needed to make sure you had her, first.”

“Start it.”

The metal box seems alive in Wayne’s hands, growing and then shrinking again like a living, breathing thing. He sets it down on the rooftop, taking a step back as it begins to glow blue.

“This technology isn’t really in my wheelhouse,” he says, watching with Diana and Lois as more and more energy escapes from the box until it erupts, spitting out a person-sized circle of blinding light.

“We have to… wait… another minute…” Diana manages, as Grace frees one of her arms; it connects with the underside of Diana’s chin, and she exhales forcefully.

“It’s not stable enough yet,” Lois says to Wayne. The light is still solidifying into a ring, the opening not quite complete.

Wayne dives to the ground and helps to pin Grace, pitting all of his body weight against the strength in one Apokoliptian fist.

Grace’s staff had fallen when Lois had captured her with the lariat. Lois picks it up tentatively. If she separates Grace from her staff, she’ll have no means of finding her way back to her ruler.

“Where are we sending her?” Lois asks.

“No idea,” Wayne grunts out. “Like I said… this isn’t really in my wheelhouse.”

The portal finishes actualizing.

It’s a curious thing to look at. Lois feels, facing it, as though it holds infinite possibilities. She can’t see through to the other side. There’s only light, close enough to touch, and yet so very far away.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Grace says, dialing back her struggle. “Look at me, Lois.”

Lois does. Grace’s eyes seem to hold the same depths as the otherworldly portal. Why hadn’t she noticed this before? Amazing Grace. How sweet the sound of her name.

“The Boom Tube can take you anywhere in the universe. The universe is vast, Lois. There are far better stories to tell out there than any you could find in this primitive world.”

Lois looks back at the portal. Amazing Grace is right. Something is drawing her to it.

“If you hand me back my staff, you'll be free to go.”

“Lois,” Diana says, but her voice feels distant.

Lois takes another step closer to the portal, and then turns to face Amazing Grace, extending the staff towards her. She needs it more than Lois does. And Lois needs to—

“Lois, get out of the way!”

Something connects with her shoulder, and Lois falls to her hands and knees. She turns in a daze to see Diana and Wayne heave Grace toward the portal. As she passes through the intergalactic entryway, her face contorted with rage, it seems to swallow her until she disappears completely into the hungry light.

As soon as she’s out of sight, the portal shrinks smaller and smaller until it, too, has gone.

Diana helps Lois to her feet. “I am sorry, Lois, that I could not be more gentle in this moment.”

“I’m sorry about—” Lois blinks. The last minute or so has faded to a blur in her mind. “What even happened?”

“Grace has hypnotic capabilities. It’s how she convinced the museum director and all of the experts to go along with her story.”

“That makes sense,” Lois says, because it does. She makes a mental note to check in on Kyle in case he needs help getting back on his feet after this whole thing with Amazing Grace and Morgan Edge shakes out. She looks at Wayne, whose presence here makes far less sense to her than alien mind control. “And how did you do… whatever you did?” Something else occurs to her, and she spins back to face Diana again. “Diana. Where’s the bomb?”

“Good question,” Diana asks. “Bruce?”

“The bomb is disarmed.”

Diana raises an eyebrow. “It was encased in crystal.”

“I smashed it. It’s disarmed. You don’t need to worry about it.” To Lois, he says lightly: “I’m handy with technology.”

“When was the last time you demonstrated that to your shareholders?”

“They don’t need to know. My interest is personal.”

Lois is about to argue when Diana places a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Bruce has a very important meeting to attend to now. Don’t you, Bruce?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wayne says. He half-smiles at Lois. “I can take a hint.” He’s crossing the roof to the elevator doors when Diana calls out to him again.

“Bruce. What did you do with the rock?”

Wayne gives her an inscrutable look. “It’s in a safe place. You don’t need to worry about that, either.”

“Hmm,” Diana says. But she lets him go. “I’ll need to keep an eye on that one,” she says to Lois. “He’s liable to get someone hurt. That someone may be himself, if he bites off more than he can chew.”

_(“Crime and corruption. Urban legends. Bruce Wayne. The holy trifecta of Gotham news.)_

Bruce Wayne has layers, Lois thinks. Well she’ll be damned. Maybe all of those things are part and parcel of the same story—one that has never been told.

“You can finally bring your story to the Planet,” Diana says, smiling softly as she takes Lois’ hands. “Was it worth it? Getting the scoop?”

Lois had approached the police this afternoon with all of the evidence needed to arrest Morgan Edge for associations to Intergang, not to mention the use of Galaxy Broadcasting System for the purposes of covering up illegal gang activity. The Daily Planet is about to be bought by Wayne Enterprises in the impending wake of Edge’s arrest. And Lois Lane has information on at least a dozen members of Intergang who had explained in detail, while she was present, what they’d done to acquire the items that Edge had requested on Grace’s behalf.

There’s another story, too, about an incident today in which a woman at the Metropolis Museum had smashed through two displays and stolen a large piece of Torbernite and an advanced computer. Everyone had watched her leave, and yet nobody had seen where she’d gone. Such a straightforward theft in a heavily-guarded crowd wasn’t humanly possible. Was it?

Except that one of the items had been a bomb. The thief was not really a thief at all.

She was a wonder of a woman.

It’s all typed onto a USB drive Lois is carrying with her in her bag. She’s speaking with the Planet’s editor-in-chief, Perry White, in just a few minutes.

“As far as second dates go,” Lois says, stepping closer to Diana, “this was definitely about as weird as it could have gotten.”

_(“And if the second goes poorly, then no one gets kissed.”)_

“I still feel that it went well,” Diana says. “We were successful in our mission.”

“Yeah. It did go well.” Lois can’t help but wonder aloud about something else that’s on her mind, though, even as she moves to stand chest-to-chest with Diana, face tilted upward to meet her eyes. “I hope that the stolen items will make their way back to where they belong. Is there any way that the story box might be returned to Themyscira?”

“I am sure that it will find its way.”

Lois smiles. Diana is radiant as the sun sets behind her, and the strange lariat glowing at her hip makes her all the more luminous. Her hair ripples over her shoulders in the slight breeze. Lois had been someone else when they’d first met, and Diana had seen straight through the fiction to the truth of her.

Diana’s fingertips are soft and strong against the inside of Lois’ wrists now, anchoring her to something meaningful and real.

On the roof of the Daily Planet, Lois lifts herself onto tiptoes and kisses her.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> The placement of this in DCEU is a little hazy as it is very much a canon-divergent, pre-canon story, but I really wanted it to be set before Clark arrived in Metropolis and the world was introduced to Superman. Hence the pre-MoS tag!
> 
> I've taken some liberties with a few comics characters/references in this story. Amazing Grace doesn't have any iconic weapons, so I gave her a staff inspired by Big Barda's Mega-Rod to help her get around. (She is canonically able to manipulate minds, however.)
> 
> Kyle Rayner, eventual Green Lantern, is the manager of Lonely Arts. When I decided to take an art-y direction with this fic, it called for me to include him, even in a I-really-just-borrowed-his-name capacity.
> 
> The museum director is Director Hall because Silver Age Hawkman's cover identity was Carter Hall, museum director/curator.
> 
> While the bow and arrow Lois noticed of course suggests Green Arrow, I imagined the "Clouet" painting to be a portrait of Zatara. I had planned to incorporate descriptions of more "artifacts", but ended up narrowing it down to just a few so as not to overcrowd the story with references to characters that never appear.


End file.
